In Sickness and In Heath
by makodreamafar
Summary: In Sickness and In Health Till Death Do You Part. John has never needed anyone in his life until Bobby showed him love. How far will he go for Bobby and Bobby for him? How much will they give up, will they gain? This is their story. Slash Bobby/John
1. Chapter 1

Authors Note:

This story will be a long one covering from pre X-1 to post X-3. It will eventually deal with slash and character death. I am looking for beta(s) for this story, so if you are interested please message me. The rating for this chapter is T for teen, this story will achieve a rating of M for Mature. Please review after you read.

_Prologue_

_My name is St. John Allerdyce._

_Now that I'm writing this that's a stupid what to start a story, isn't it? But names are supposed to be the basis of our personalities, the truest form of who we are; an identity. If that's the case though maybe I should have introduced myself as Pyro. Because have you ever read the definition of that word? Pyro-a noun; plural, informal-a pyromaniac; Pyromaniac-a noun; a compulsion to set things on fire. So my name in essence means that I have a desire to watch the world burn. To watch the flames lick their teeth and devour-everything. _

_I'm nothing but destruction, an uncontrolled force. Is it really any surprise that I feel things so deeply; that I allow my emotions to run free? _

_Not like him. The most stereotypical thing happened when I went to the school; I fell in love. Yeah, go ahead and laugh it up. It's hilarious I know. You wanna know what's even more hilarious though? He makes ice. Oh yes people, shake your heads. Say could you possibly be any more of a stereotype; of a metaphor gone bad? Yes I can; because if you use enough fire you melt the ice and burn the source then destroy it. This is the story of how I destroyed Robert Drake's life._

_A candle burned_

_Its wick gone low_

_Its golden life_

_Losing steady glow_

_Flickering ever _

_In the wind_

_Over and over_

_Never to win_

_Chapter One_

_I guess I should start my story at the beginning. But what is a beginning? What was the beginning of this story? Was it the first time I realized I was gay, the first time I kissed Bobby, or maybe the first time I thought to myself that this man, this stupid, happy, ridiculously optimistic man named Bobby Drake was the one that I would love forever. No I should probably go back further, back to my beginning. But enough of this rambling that's not what you want to know. You want to know how I destroyed him right? You want to know how I managed to decimate the man of ice? This is the beginning then, the beginning of the fire._

It was a surprisingly clear day, surprising because five minutes ago it had looked as if a storm from the bowls of hell was about to descended upon the car. John curled his knees tighter into his chest, his dirty converse digging into the white leather seats of the neon blue sports car. He could only imagine that the owner or what he had assumed to be the owner of the car, was displeased.

The older man's face was set into what seemed to be a mask of indifference, yet it still held a hint frustration. There was a slight furrow in the driver's brow and his hands held the steering wheel tightly. He seemed so large in John's eyes, it was as if he blocked out everything else. His existence speaking of a silent sort of danger, one that would strike without warning. In short, the man terrified the street urchin.

The man, or Scott Summers as he had introduced himself, reminded John of the various cops that had picked him up over the years. Their entire bodies screaming of disdain for him even being alive. Telling him in no uncertain terms that they believed him to be a waste of valuable air and that he was completely worthless; that he was nothing. That's what he was to the man sitting next to him, nothing. Summers had not spoke a word to him after the car had started. He had not even acknowledged the boy's presence, not with a glance or even a slight mummer.

John if possible forced himself even closer into his knees. His chin pushing into the narrow space between the exposed knobby joints, littered with scrapes and bruises easily seen through the rips in his jeans. The bottom of his jeans were caked with mud and various other substances that were unidentifiable. Even if they were identifiable though, it would not be recommended to do so; the answers would not be pleasant.

His shirt hung largely off of his tiny frame, if exposed he would merely be skin stretched over long bones. Like a child that had grown too much and was still filling out. Except John wasn't tall. He was small, about 5" 2' if he pushed it. He blamed his height on the lack of nutrition in his diet, but really he had never hit his growth spurt. His body apparently rebelling from the natural processes of growing up until it was satisfied its needs would be met.

He knew he wasn't much to look at . He was just a skinny homeless kid covered with mud and dirt, with greasy hair that hung loosely around his grubby face. The boy's white teeth worried his bottom lip, his nails digging into his biceps as he wrapped his arms tighter around his knees squeezing his eyes closed and pushing them into his knees. He didn't even know where they were going. This guy had just picked him up from the 9th Precinct in New York. He had just showed up, exchanged words with the police then taken John by the arm and had steered him out of the station to his car.

At first John had thought that he was being taken back to social services. That's what they did with kids like him right? However the more they traveled, the further they got from the city, the more John realized this wasn't social services. Anyways, what kind of Social Worker drove a sports car with leather interior?

Oh god they were going to kill him! He could feel his heart start to race in his chest as he lifted his eyes looking at the barren landscape around him. This guy was going to kill him and bury him. He didn't want to die! He hadn't meant to hurt the cop! He hadn't meant to! It was an accident! Blood slipped down his biceps and he bit through his bottom lip, iron filled liquid slipping onto his tongue and chin. The coopery taste made his panic increase and he dug his nails in further past his skin.

"I'm sorry!" John heard the words leave his throat in a desperate sort of cry. Blood spattering on the dash, bright red against cool white as Scott looked at him surprised. John couldn't stop though, his hands were shaking as tears started to flow from his eyes. Spit and blood spilling down his chin while words spewed from his mouth. "I didn't mean-I-," his breath became choked, his chest heaving as the world narrowed.

More blood. Oh God. He hadn't meant to hurt that man!

"Calm down," John hadn't noticed the car had stopped, that Scott was trying to grab his hands and pull his fingers from where they were ripping the flesh from John's arms. He couldn't see anything clearly, the world was fuzzy. Was he dying? Blood was filling his senses and his stomach churned harshly as bile raced through his system.

Hot and thick, the fluid filtered up his throat, filling his mouth as Scott moved his arm away. The vile substance released itself, landing on knees and the interior of the car. He couldn't stop. Over and over he heaved and cried. Blood, vomit and spit kept coming up and he was screaming. Vaguely he realized he was screaming that he was sorry.

Scott was trying to calm him down was telling him to breathe. Was demanding he calm down. But he couldn't. "Breathe," Scott was holding his face in his hands as more vomit spilled down John's chin, mixing with his blood as it dripped into the wound on his lips. Some of it was getting onto Scott's blue sweater and hands, staining the fabric permanently. "Breathe. I know it wasn't your fault! Now calm down!" John couldn't though, so his body shut down, the world went black.

John felt as if his mind was hidden beneath layers of thick gauze. Like a white cocoon had been wrapped around his mind. He was unable to focus on anything besides the slight buzz. Every time he tried to think, to process, the world would slip away it was like trying to catch wave receding from the shore. The young mutants limbs felt heavy and he had to struggle to move them. Even while struggling though he could only managed a slight twitch of his fingers. What was wrong with him?

Finally John's fingers made a firm move and he breathed in deeply as they brushed across cool leather seeming to be worn with age. The gentle whirl of an air conditioner somewhere to the left reached his ears.

Suddenly a cool cloth was placed on his brow and his worries began to float away as cold water slipped from the edges to dance along the spaces between the strands of his hair. It feel so good, so comforting, he didn't realize it until now but he felt hot. It wasn't unpleasant, just hot.

A small sound of pleasure left his lips and the presence next to him moved closer the warmth the being radiated seeming to seep into his skin. Like the heat was being drawn into him, was begging to be drawn into him.

His forehead drew together as a voice entered his mind. No not a voice, singing, ethereal so beautiful. John's forehead relaxed as the haunting call entrapped him.

It was beautiful, seductive, like hot chocolate on a freezing day. It was begging to be set free. Begging him to let it run loose, to consume him in its warmth. He wanted it to. He opened himself, the song getting louder as he laughed joyfully, it was dancing with him.

Vaguely he noticed the warm presence from before moving further from him. He didn't care though, this was so much better.

'John,' a different voice entered his mind and he shied away from it, it wasn't warm but cool and caressing. Not like the song that licked at the edges of his mind; like a playful dog that wanted to be let outside. He leaned mentally toward the song when the voice spoke again, 'John.'

Why was that voice there, he was happy with the song. 'Go away!' John pouted leaning more into the song moving with it.

'John,' the song started to fade and John screamed in rage, chasing after it even as the voice wrapped around him. 'John control it, don't let it control you.'

He didn't want to control it, it was so beautiful, he wanted to let it be free. It deserved to be free, to paint the world with its being. He struggled against the voice trying to get to the song. Tears streamed down his face as the song was pushed further away from him.

'No please it's…please don't take it from me. It's mine!' Cold fingertips pushed to his cheeks and he struggled, reaching desperately toward the song only to feel it be extinguished. 'No!' John struggled toward the embers of the song but there was no singing only the dying whimpers of the creature's life . Cold hands pushed more firmly to his flesh and the world faded again.

John came to once more, the world pounding in his ears as the sun's rays splashed across his face. Groaning he turned away from them, the sound of blinds closing resonating in the room. His head…God what happened? A hand was lifted and pushed to his eyes, bright red spots forming behind his eyelids as he tried to push the throbbing back. John's knees were drawn up and the leather made a squelching sound as he gritted his teeth against the pain. Did Nathan's gang beat him up for his bread or something? It wasn't that unusual but still his head had never hurt like this before. It was so much worse than what a couple of hits of his head to the pavement could do.

Slowly the headache receded and a voice washed over him. "I see you're awake John," the sound of a wheelchair coming toward him invoked John to open his eyes. He quickly snapped his eyes closed once more and whimpered the light still in the room seeming to be a cosmic burst. More blinds closed and he braved opening his eyes once more. There was just enough light so that John could see without causing damage his eyes so he examined the male in front of him. Kind blue eyes, filled with age and wisdom started into his own, disregarding any barriers he may have had up and dragging him into the man's power.

Wrinkles crinkled at the edges of the elder male's eyes, not old and sagging but distinguished, as if instead of a testament to his age they were a testament to his life. John could see so many things in those eyes, a deep desire to accomplish a goal, a knowing of the cruelness of the world yet the proclamation of hope. Tearing his gaze away from the man across from him John took a deep breath, cool air filtering into his 13 year old lungs.

He could barely stand to met the man's gaze so instead he looked over his shoulder. John's eyes widened at the dark smoldered wall surrounding the fireplace and the charred wooden floor. What in the world had happened here? It looked as of the fireplace had exploded into the room, some of the bricks actually coal colored. "What-" John stopped speaking as his eyes met with the old man's again his breath catching in his throat. He knew, he knew what had happened. IT had happened again.

"What happened John, is that what you were going to ask young man? Why don't you tell me?" The voice wasn't harsh and accusing, just calm, as if it was stating a fact, calming a wild animal. John couldn't help but allow his heart beat to slow, to permit his breaths to come more evenly as he moved his gaze back to the ruined wall.

"It was me. I did it." John was amazed at how realxed his voice was, how easy it was to admit that he was responsible for the destruction before him. He was entranced by it and the old man before him smiled sadly.

"Your powers can be used for more than destruction John." Brown eyes darted to blue and the young boy shook his head, picking at the new clothes he was wearing.

When did they change him? He hated the clothes, white, pure, not like him. John was just a street kid. He didn't like clean things, they got dirty when he touched them. Like the time he had dropped that beautiful glass elephant his mother had kept on a high shelf when he was six. He broke anything that was beautiful-destroyed it utterly.

John turned his gaze back to the other inhabitant of the room, "who are you, where am I?" Brown eyes watched as archaic hands folded a smile spreading on the older male's face. "My name is Professor Charles Xavier and this is my school for gifted youngsters.''

_Please review._


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Two

_That was the first time anybody ever told me that I could do more than destroy; that I could be more than what I was at that point. I think that's why I hated the Professor so much; he gave me such much hope and then it was torn from under me. It wasn't his fault. Fuck, I know it wasn't his fault but when you're that young and your life is ripped from your fingertips; it changes you. It changed me. But I'm getting ahead of myself, that's latter in the story. Now where was I, oh yeah the Professor and the school._

John looked around him, the wind pushing the trees branches toward the south as the other kids played. Xavier had told him so many things. That John was a mutant, a homo superior. One of those freaks that John had seen on the news, as if he wasn't enough of an outcast already. Sighing he trailed his fingers over the bench that he was resting on. It had been a week since he had arrived at this school, this place where it seemed the impossible happened.

It was weird to be surrounded by all the lavish halls, obviously this Xavier guy came from money, and old money at that. Nothing like John. He gripped the wooden bench hard. What was he doing here; he didn't belong to a place like this.

People were smiling and happy and it was wrong. Didn't they know that they would never be accepted into society, that they were freaks? His fingers dug into the bench, wood particles getting trapped under his nails. This place was so full of hope and it just made him want to scream. What was there to hope for! He couldn't. His breath started to shake and his eyes watered. He would never fit in here! He had to get out.

John tried to push himself from the bench only to have his world narrow. What was happening? The world was spinning! Why was it spinning? Screams reached his ears and he fell to the ground, the dirt clinging to his jeans as he wrapped his hands around his head. His heart was racing and he dug his nails into his scalp. He didn't want to be a freak, didn't want this. He just wanted to be normal! Why couldn't he of just been normal?

He shook harshly, heat licking around his flesh comfortingly. There was a bright orange glow and that was all he could see. The beautiful orange glow that would protect him- from everything, from the world. He fed his protector with his power, his head swimming happily. The voices were back, those beautiful voices that sang to him. He gave the glow more of his power when it beckoned, a smile on his face, the panic was slowly fading, there was only him and this glow.

A small tensing started in the back of his head; almost like a rubber band being pulled too tightly. It was hurting! Why was it hurting? The glow was hurting him. The voices changing from a calming song into something violent, something that raged its voice loudly at the sight of destruction and death. His entire body felt as if it was screaming. As if his very essence was being pulled from his pours by a cosmic force. So much stronger than him.

He screamed, blood vessels bursting as he struggled against the flame that was now wrapped around him. He didn't want to die! The fire was controlling him sucking him dry of his life-force. Blood started to drip from his nose, slipping down into his open mouth. His body was shaking again his mind hounding loudly to be free from the voices. They were so loud, they were drowning him. **'HELP!' **He was screaming so loudly in his head.

Why was no one coming? Had they decided that he wasn't worth it? That was probably it, was this Summers's revenge for puking on him? Because he really hadn't meant to. He didn't mean to make anyone mad! He hadn't meant any of it! Why wouldn't anyone help him! Tears started to peek from the corners of his eyes before they flowed freely. The liquid didn't stay though drying almost the instant it hit his flesh, the blood dripping from his nose caking and flaking as the heat that surrounded him only grew.

John pushed his face into his knees his breath coming in ragged breaths. He was never going to escape, the fire was just going to get bigger and bigger until he was drained of everything. He was going to die! Nobody would notice though, they didn't care! Why had the Professor told him all of those things? About belonging, was it just to trick him? This was his punishment for doing all those things, for stealing peoples wallets, for taking food when he needed it. Maybe it was God, the person that the guys on the street corners talked about. Maybe God was punishing him.

The heat slowly started to fade and he felt his head spin as the elemental force took away more of his energy to stay alight. What was going on? Why was it getting so cold. But the cold felt so good. John pushed toward it. He wanted the cold, the heat was so good, but it was hurting him. The cold…would it hurt him to? Wrap him in an icy cocoon and drag out his last breaths like the fire?

Arms wrapped around him and vaguely he realized that the thing that was holding him wasn't much larger than he was. His breath was causing steam in the now bitterly cold air, the last of the heat radiating from his skin making wisps of water vapor rise from his skin. It felt so good, so nice. Slowly he leaned into the source of the cold and then for what seemed like the millionth time let his mind fade away.

Voices were floating at the edge of John's consciousness, he felt as if he was swimming. His body floating just beneath the surface of the water, allowing sounds to filter through but remain unclear.

"Has no control."

"Won't be able to fit in here."

They were right he didn't fit in here, he had no control. What had he done this time, who'd gotten hurt? Was this what the result of his power? Destruction?

"Professor."

"He's not being sent away Scott."

"He nearly burned down the school!"

Did he really almost burn down the school? John shifted slightly on the couch. He seemed like he spent most of his time on the couch. It reminded him of a shrink's office. Wasn't that what shrink's did, ask you about your feelings while you laid down on a couch? Why'd they make you lay down on a couch anyways?

"He had a panic attack! He's just a child Scott!"

"Jean, he's dangerous!"

"No more than you!"

Was Scott dangerous then? Of course he was Scott was supposed to have an extremely powerful, what the Professor would call, a gift. Maybe that was why he was afraid of Scott? That whole alpha wolf thing? But then wouldn't he also be afraid of the Professor?

"Jean, Scott, calm down."

"Professor."

"He's awake."

John opened his eyes looking at the three adults in the room. Scott was standing angrily near the Professor's chair, his face set in a scowl. It was obvious as to who was the one that was protesting him so much. A woman with long red hair was smiling at him kindly as he lifted his head, that must be Jean. He'd heard about her from the other kids at mealtime. Well not from them but more of overheard them. After all he wasn't about to start talking to people. Rule one that he'd learned on the streets, keep to yourself. He was pretty much ashamed of how weak he had been since he'd found out that he was a-shaking his head he sat up on the couch. He couldn't afford to be weak anymore.

"Are you ok?"

The question caught him by surprise and his eyes turned to the Professor, the old man seemed honestly worried about him and John couldn't help but feel a slight tug at his chest. Was the Professor going to kick him out? Was he too much trouble? But no he couldn't care, because if he did he was just going to get hurt. He mumbled that he was fine and turned his gaze to the woods visible outside of the window. It was so peaceful here, so unlike the city that had been his home for as long as he could remember. Ever since he was really little. John banished the thoughts before turning his gaze back to Xavier.

"What's going to happen to me?" John's voice was shaking slightly and he couldn't help but lift his chin a little bit in a false form of bravado. He wouldn't be afraid of his actions. He wouldn't get anywhere by doing it, so there was no point. Scott, he could feel the male's gaze burrow into him and the youngest occupant of the room fought back a shiver. He knew that Scott didn't like him. John wasn't stupid, but the way Scott was looking at him. It was as if he expected John to be worthless. It made the young mutant fight against the urge to squirm and he was grateful when Jean stepped in front of Scott's gaze smiling at him so kindly; almost motherly.

He wondered if she did this to everyone; if she was always so warm. It wasn't just the heat he could sense coming off of her flesh, it was her. The warmth radiating out of her seemed to seep from her soul, bathing him in this calming comforting presence.

"Nothing's going to happen to you John, it was an accident." Jean's voice resonated over him like the sun's rays on a summer day and he felt himself relax slightly. He couldn't help but believe everything that she said, her voice was so calm, so certain.

John leaned back into the leather couch, the scent of oil reaching out to his nose as the coverings creaked. "What did I do?" John didn't ask what happened, he knew what had happened, he had lost control again, what was more important was what he had done. Had he hurt anyone? The Professor must have read his thoughts; at least that's what John believed because the old man smiled kindly.

"Nobody was hurt John. One of the students was smoking out by the woods and when you had your panic attack you drew the flame to you." He didn't seem angry but John knew from experience how fast an adult's mind could change, one moment you were an angel the next moment you were the devil's spawn. The young mutant nodded though and worried his bottom lip with his teeth. "I am however going to have to assign you somebody to help you with your panic attacks John." The brunette's attention was caught and John bit down on his lip harder as it was. He knew it, they were going to punish him. He fucking knew it. Nothing was going to happen to him, what utter bullshit.

"It's not a punishment John, merely a precaution for your safety and for the other students." Xavier paused a moment and then the door opened, a teenager who couldn't be much older than John entering hesitantly. The boy's blond hair fell slightly over his forehead, and he held onto the door handle a moment before entering the room fully. His posture changing slightly into one of one offering companionship. John thought he was pretty, not that he would admit that. Ever. "This is Bobby Drake, you'll be rooming with him from now on."

A/N For those of you who have been waiting for this story-I truly have no excuse, please find it in your hearts to forgive me.

Thanks to my reviewers, Justine, Emeralden Rapley and tmmdeathwishraven

Please be kind and review.


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